


Fair, kind, and true.

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, Poetry, Reading, Shakespearean Sonnets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale settled in some routines over the long years they've known each other.





	Fair, kind, and true.

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Ineffable Husbands Week 2019](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/187228656901/ineffable-husbands-week-and-nsfw-ineffable) Day 1: dancing / music / poetry
> 
> Sonnet 105 of our dear Shakespeare has been partly quoted in this fic.

Crowley wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, focused on his phone as he scrolled through different websites. He didn’t need to see where he was going: he knew the place better than his own flat, after all. He ducked a pile of books easily, his body guiding him without effort as it was acquainted with the bookshop more than any other place.

He half turned on his heels and dramatically flopped down on the sofa once he arrived at his destination. Aziraphale lifted the book he was holding to let Crowley settle his head on his lap, without ever looking up. It was their own dance, which they had spent so many years perfecting together.

Neither really remembered how or when they had come to learn the steps, but they had settled into this routine together.

Crowley chuckled at something on his phone, then locked it and put it on his chest, looking at Aziraphale, who was reading. He always looked so focused and passionate, and Crowley liked to simply lie and watch him. It always was nice and quiet, and he could stare at him as much as he wanted.

“_ Let not my love be called idolatry _ ,” Aziraphale suddenly said, interrupting Crowley’s daydream about his beautiful hands. “ _ Nor my beloved as an idol show. _” 

Crowley almost asked what Aziraphale was talking about, but he then remembered he was holding a book - something he should have remembered, given that he had let his eyes examine Aziraphale’s hands for a while now.

When the angel felt like it, or simply thought about it, he would read out loud what he was reading. Crowley had once asked him to, curious about what was holding the Angel's attention. He had never asked verbally again, but Aziraphale had taken the habit of doing it, if he wasn’t too lost in his reading.

“_ Since all alike my songs and praises be _

_ To one, of one, still such, and ever so. _” Crowley smiled, closing his eyes and turning his head slightly to the side. He smelt Aziraphale’s old waistcoat, along with his cologne and his love.

Crowley had taken a long time to realise that Aziraphale’s love had a smell. He had never really wondered about it. Or, rather, it had been engraved in him for so long that he had forgotten to be on the lookout. When he had started to wonder why he could only smell this one particular scent around Aziraphale, he had eventually put two and two together. Aziraphale’s love smelt like a mix of feathers which had not seen a ray of sunshine in a long time, of old, loved books and of the first rain which had fallen. Angelic love was a whole experience. Crowley had embraced it and – mentally – declared it as his own.

Aziraphale’s voice resonated in him as he read slowly, carefully, always so carefully.

“_ Fair, kind, and true, have often liv’d alone, _

_ Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. _”

Crowley opened his eyes, looking up at Aziraphale.

“Which one was that?” he asked, glancing at the title.

“Sonnet 105,” Aziraphale smiled. 

He had always loved that William Shakespeare, and Crowley could see why. He had never expressed the same enthusiasm as he had, of course, but he could understand where it came from. Aziraphale was almost more enthusiastic about books than he was anyway.

“‘S nice,” Crowley admitted, closing his eyes under his shades.

Aziraphale chuckled, his hand coming to brush the sunglasses off Crowley’s nose. He didn’t protest, letting him do, letting him discard his dark barrier, letting him run his fingers in his hair afterwards.

He hummed contently, rolling on his side and hiding his face against Aziraphale’s belly, fully breathing in his obvious love and fondness.

Aziraphale started reading again. Once in a while, he would read a sonnet aloud, and Crowley would respond by humming again.


End file.
